


how we calmed the tides of war

by silverasteria (SmilingCheshire)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mito has crocodile summons, Mito is a mastermind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 21:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilingCheshire/pseuds/silverasteria
Summary: Mito schemes.Madara and Tobirama fall in love.





	how we calmed the tides of war

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amihan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amihan/gifts).



> This is what I could do in the time allotted! I think I may continue it if I can but I'm not sure. Sorry if I didn't stick as close to the prompt if you want!

Silent as death herself, Mito slips into the house. It’s nearing noon and Butsuma should be going over battle plans about now. She  _ smiles _ .

On quiet feet, she approaches his study (that’s what he calls it at least, he lets his sons do his work and takes the glory for himself). Her hand strays to the slit in her dress, fingers glancing against the cold metal of her blade.

The ugly vicious smiles of her fore mothers disappears, replaced with a dumb smile that showed no teeth. It’s easy to knock upon the door, to step inside when a gruff voice yells “Come in.”, to take the knife and slit the man’s throat.

She doesn’t tremble, doesn’t hesitate. She executes the kill with grace, not letting a drop  of blood sully her.

Only after, does she wonder. Wonders how Hashirama and Tobirama will cope with their father ead, how the clan will accept Hashirama’s lead (and oh, how she wonders). Ultimately, she knows that the clan is better off without Butsuma, but will they accept that?

 

* * *

 

 

It is a familiar scene, even if it’s an unwelcome one. The battlefield is a mess of uprooted trees following Hashirama’s commands, scorch marks from the Uchiha fire, and river water from Tobirama’s jutsu. 

The smell of death is strong, radiating across the battlefield, mixing with the smell of rot. The smell was upsetting, once, when he was just a child and unfamiliar with war. Now, the smell is an annoyance and sometimes, a reminder of his lost kin.

Father had made him lead the team to collect the dead, saying he could only trust him to do this (he knows it is a punishment, but thinking that he has gained Father’s approval is worth more than his pride).

Madara stops, having their sensor scan the area for any Senju. When he gives the all clear, Madara stands. “I’ll scout ahead, wait for my signal.” 

The dead lay in wait, waiting for him to bring them home and to release their souls. He scans the area, making sure no one alive is around. It’s a scene of carnage, messier than any of their other recent battles. He sets his jaw and takes a hesitant step into the clearing, ignoring the dead’s daunting stares.

He kneels down next to a corpse, one that looks peaceful in death despite their violent death, he closes their unfocused eyes carefully.  _ Rest in death _ , he thinks somberly.

He shouldn’t feel sad at these deaths, they’re a consequence of war, something that had been drilled since birth. It’s easy to stand, compared to the things he would have to do when he gets home. 

He’s about to signal for his team to follow when he sees a flash of silver in his peripheral vision. Had it been from a forgotten sword or a person? He’s not sure but he signals for his team to stay put, just in case. 

He doesn’t see them approach, it was like they stepped out of his shadow with silent footfalls. There’s a knife to his throat and a quiet voice says, “You’re not meant to be here.”

It’s him. The fifteen year old Senju who has killed more of his kin than he can count, he’s curse upon them and perhaps, death incarnate.

“I’m collecting our dead,” Madara grinds out, barely containing his rage. He knows better to erupt in rage when someone holds his life in their hands but with this, it’s hard when knowing they’ve slaughter so many you held dear.

“Dead?” It’s a question, somehow. This fool of a boy, a killer in all rights, who can’t comprehend how every clan has sacred burial rituals.

“We have a sacred ceremony!” He snarls. “The dead have rights, you know.”

He draws the knife away, letting his arm fall lax. “Do they? And here I thought the dead were only good for rotting in the ground.”

Madara whirls on him, hands going for his throat. He sidesteps casually, calm in the face of Madara’s anger.

Madara recognizes him as Hashirama’s brother, Tobirama, from all those years ago. He’s still skinny with lean muscle packed on, three tattoos inked over harsh scars. His eyes are still a burning red, those eyes are different than anything he’s ever seen, looking straight into his soul.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Madara decides.

He gives him a blank look, “But that’s not what our families want.” He says it like peace is a lost cause, something not even to be tried for, just being a  soldier in their fathers’ war.

Madara sighs, “Sometimes I think this war will never end.”

Tobirama smirks, “This war has been going on for generations, why stop now?”

He looks up into the clear blue sky, a peaceful world reflected back at him. “Aren’t you tired of all the death? We’ve had to bury so many… though, most of the recent ones are your fault.”

“Do you think I haven’t had to bury those  _ I _ care about? My brother’s are long since dead and everyday, I worry who I will bury next.” The words are let out slowly, carefully, with a sense of calm he’d never grasp.

“Admit it, you delight in death. Those lives you take give you a sense of joy. You’re the most prolific killer in this age and I suppose, getting joy out of it is enough of a pay off to take any lives necessary.”

“No! Killing has never given me a sense of joy! I became this to please my father, nothing more. But I suppose, he’ll never be pleased unless I wipe out your clan” He looks up at Madara, eyes narrowed and head tilting.

“You’d kill an entire clan just to get your father’s approval?” Madara asks.

“Wouldn’t you?” Tobirama says in turn.

He would. And he’s not ready to face that unexpected truth, so he throws a blind punch. His rage is limitless in that moment and all he can think about is hurting the other.

Tobirama catches the fist easily, a smirk appearing on his face. “Is that the best you can do?”

“You know very well that it’s not, Tobirama,” Madara says, smiling viciously as he catches Tobirama’s gaze.

It’s an unspoken stalemate, with Madara’s fist in Tobirama’s grip and their gazes locked. Neither moves, neither blinks. (It’s odd fighting Tobirama, he only engages Hashirama in battle. Hashirama and Tobirama are  _ different _ , to say the least. Hashirama is solid where Tobirama is fluid. It’s… odd.)

There’s a crash, somewhere on the other side of the clearing, drawing both of Madara and Tobirama’s gaze. “Tobirama!” Hashirama calls as he comes running out of the forest.

He stops suddenly when he sees Madara. His gaze going to their hands, to their body language. He gasps, “Are you two having a  _ romantic rendezvous _ ?” His voice drops into whisper on the word ‘romantic’, eyes flashing.

Tobirama releases Madara’s fist, taking a step towards Hashirama. “Brother, why would you think that?” He asks, glancing back at Madara like it’s an insane thing to even consider.

Madara huffs and looks away from him, sulking slightly.

Hashirama shrugs, “Are you saying you’re  _ not _ having a romantic rendezvous?”

“YES! That’s what I am saying!” Tobirama stresses.

He laughs, “You can lie if you want to, brother, but I know the truth.” Winking over at the two of them with a secretive smile on his face.

“Fine,” Tobirama says, “why are you even here?”

“Oh!” Hashirama exclaims, “right. Father summoned you, I’m here to get you.”

“Right,” Tobirama says, “we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Bye Madara! Maybe we can see each other tomorrow! Neither of us will be busy!” Hashirama calls, waving wildly at his friend.

“I’d like to see you too, Hashirama!” Madara says, ignoring the small part of inside him that’s upset that Tobirama didn’t even look back at him.

 

* * *

 

Madara is there at dawn, perhaps because they hadn’t agreed on a set time and perhaps because he was so excited he couldn’t sleep. 

He spends hours there. The clearing has been cleaned of the dead but the smell of rot and old blood stays, it’s revolting yet familiar. He doesn’t like to think about how comfortable he has become with death. But, this is the fate that has been meant for him since birth and he cannot argue with destiny.

He sometimes wonders why he’s meant for a life full of death and destruction when he craves peace. It’s not something he likes to think about, especially since death is all he knows. Can you crave something you’ve never experienced? Or is his yearning for peace just some fantasy?

He shakes his head and looks around the battlefield. He picks up a forgotten sword, tracing the lightning pattern along the blade. It’s a Senju sword, no doubt there. Madara wonders if he knows the person who dealt this lightning strike, if they’re still living or if they’re among the dead.

There’s a quiet crunching behind him and Madara turns around to see Tobirama standing there. He looks up quietly at Madara, his eyes narrowed.

“My father is dead.” He says the words quietly but they echo across clearing. 

Madara freezes. “Your father is... dead?” He can’t comprehend such a thought, it's the end of an era, an era of fear and death. He can’t help but relax, the man who had haunted his nightmares is dead, the man whose actions caused so many of his kin’s deaths is  _ dead _ . (Is it morally reprehensible to delight in the death of someone so awful? Even if it is, he does not care.)

“Hashirama is clan head now,” Tobirama says, “he has responsibilities to the clan. He cannot hang around with you anymore. The next time you see my brother, it will be as enemies.”

“Wait!” Madara calls, frantically, “Taj - my father will not fight fair against Hashirama. He’ll use tricks, diabolical tricks.”

Tobirama smirks, “I have tricks of my own.”

And with that, he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

He awakes to red eyes staring down at him. He doesn’t move to scream, he can feel the steady pressure on his throat. “What do you want?” He whispers instead, hand itching for his sword.

“Peace,” she says softly, “do not worry, I won’t kill you. Yet.” She flicks her luminescent eyes to the door and then the window. “Convince your father of peace.” She tips the point of her blade into his chin. “I will not have my husband dying in a pointless war.”

“How will I convince my father of peace when he can barely stand to hear of it?” Madara asks, listening to the Uchiha in the background (they’ve discovered there is an intruder, too late if you ask Madara, he could have been killed a dozen times over at this point).

“Simple,” she says, “with love.” She looks over her shoulder. “Take this.” She shoves a note in his hand before she takes off running (she’s fast like Tobirama).

Izuna slams the door open with a dozen shinobi behind him (Tajima is by his side, must not have wanted to lose his prize heir). Madara shoves the note under his blankets before standing. 

“Took you long enough,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“What happened?” Tajima demands, voice harsh and eyes harsher.

“It was an assassin,” Madara says simply, “she didn’t have the chance to kill me.”

“An  _ assassin _ in  _ our  _ compound,” Tajima mutters.

“Was she a Senju?” Izuna asks, Madara isn’t sure if it’s genuine curiousity or for their father’s sake.

“No,” Madara says, “She was probably a bounty hunter.”

“A  _ bounty hunter _ with enough skill to get into our compound? Ridiculous.” Tajima glares at Madara. “No doubt she is from another of our enemy clans.” 

“She didn’t have any clan marking…” Madara says, looking down. 

“We will discuss your incompetence later,” Tajima says, leaving the room with the other soldiers at his back.

Izuna puts a comforting hand on Madara’s shoulder, not trying to leave like their father. Madar slides the door closed so he can speak with Izuna in peace. “Were you scared?” Izuna asks as Madara sits on his bed.

Izuna has never know the fear Madara has lived with as the eldest son of Tajima, he knows the fear of being a hated clan head’s son but he has never been at the forefront of their father’s cruelty.

“She didn’t actually try to kill me,” Madara says, “she told me to convince Father of peace.”

Izuna leans his chin against Madara’s shoulder, “Really?”

Madara reaches under his blankets and grabs the note, “Yeah, she gave me this too.”

Izuna grabs it out of Madara’s hand, “It reads:  _ Madara, I know of your wish for peace and I want to help you achieve that goal. I have stakes in both sides of this war, though I will not reveal what these stakes are. Just know they are true. Meet me at the riverside to discuss peace. _ ”

Madara looks down, “We should meet her… she had the chance to kill me a dozen times over and she didn’t. For whatever reason, she needs me alive for her plan to work.”

Izuna looks up at the ceiling, letting himself fall back on the bed, “I wonder what her plan is.”

Madara looks over at his little brother (his last little brother left alive) and sighs, “Izuna, I don’t think you should go with me… she kept me alive for some reason but I doubt she’ll be so merciful when it comes to you.”

* * *

She is sitting on the riverbank, feet dipped in the water, and with a crocodile’s head resting on her lap. The crocodile’s head is as tall as her torso and head combined but she rests a hand on its head like it’s a cat.

The crocodile is a sort of bleached white, paler than sin, and eyes red like blood. It blinks its eyes open, staring him down before diving into the river. 

She stands, brushing the dirt off her fine silken clothes, and steps carefully onto the water’s surface. She doesn’t step onto the opposite riverbank, simply standing on the still water.

Her eyes are a muddy green-grey, unlike the demon red he had seen that night.

“Your eyes…” He mumbles, wondering if this is the same woman as that night.

She chuckles, voice sounding like an angel, and before him, her eyes flash a luminescent red. He takes a step back. When he was younger and less hardened to the world around him, he had heard tell of Fae who lived in the woods and slept in rivers. They seduced young men and lured children away from their beds with sweet songs.

He clutches the hilt of his sword, his knuckle

* * *

s turning white. She chuckles again, “I know what you’re thinking but I’m not one of them.”

“My family are the keepers of the ocean, the closest thing this world has to Fae, though.” Her lips curve into a beautiful smile. “I’m an Uzumaki.”1

“Uzushio… if you’re from there, you are basically Fae,” Madara says, lips quirking into a smirk.

She folds her hands together, “This is a fun conversation, but to be frank, I came here to speak about peace and peace alone.”

Madara nods, “You said something about love?”

“Yes,” She snickers, “you’re going to fall in ‘love’ with someone and convince your father of peace.”

“What if I can’t convince him?” He asks, pinching at his fingers nervously.

She smiles sweetly, rubbing a hand against his arm, “Convince your father of peace or I will kill him.”

“My father would never agree to peace,” Madara reminds her.

She hums, “There is an old story of two lovers, separated because of their warring families. The two would do anything to be together, but their families disallowed them from seeing each. The girl takes a powerful potion to imitate death, she was to fake her death to be with her lover. But he found her and thinking her dead, drank poison so he could be with her. The girl woke up to find her lover dead. In her grief, she stabs herself in the heart. Dying to be with her love.” She looks up to him and smiles.

“Our plan will be filled with less death. In the story, the two are unable to be together because both of their fathers being unable to even imagine peace. Butsuma is dead and Hashirama is clan head, he actively seeks peace where his father did not.”

Madara wrinkles his brow, “Are you telling me you killed Hashirama’s father?”

She lowers her head but doesn’t break eye contact and says, “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

He goes back to the riverbank the next day, looking for the Uzumaki woman. Instead he finds Tobirama, he is standing perfectly still with his hands clasped and his eyes closed. He slowly opens his eyes when he senses Madara.

"Hello Madara," He says, remaining still.

"What are you doing here?" Madara blurts, unable to stop himself.

Tobirama ignores him, closing his eyes. "I guess we're meant to fall in love," he says offhandedly.

"WHAT?!" He exclaims (she did not tell him this was going to happen, he wasn't prepared for this).

He chuckles, "Don't worry, it'll all just be an act to achieve peace."

(An act, yes that's what he wants. He could never imagine being in an actual relationship with the other, no sir. Even if he did, it was just because he's bored and can't sleep. That doesn't mean he actually wants to pursue a relationship with him, it's just an activity to pass the time.)

"Of course," Madara says because what else can he say? There's a light blush on his face and he’s thankful Tobirama’s eyes are closed.

“My brother already thinks we’re in a secret relationship and well, I’d hate to disappoint,” he says, peering at him with one eye open. 

He relaxes his stance, moving over to him in a fluid motion. “Someone’s coming, just go with it,” Tobirama says as he leans in close.

Tobirama presses his lips against Madara’s, catching him off guard for a moment but h leans into the kiss.

There’s no fireworks but, but this is better. Tobirama’s lips are soft against his and it’s  _ amazing _ .

“...Madara?”


End file.
